The Galilee Hitchhiker
by Sariniste
Summary: Orihime and Rangiku are poor millworkers from New York on a wild Florida vacation. The trip takes an unexpected and ominous turn when they pick up a handsome hitchhiker. What devious plans does Aizen have for the two young women? AU, early sixties United States. Co-written with Sophia E.
1. Chapter 1

**The Galilee Hitchhiker – Chap. 1**

**Summary**: Orihime and Rangiku are poor millworkers from New York on a wild Florida vacation. The trip takes an unexpected and ominous turn when they pick up a handsome hitchhiker. What devious plans does Aizen have for the two young women? AU, early sixties United States. Co-written with Sophia E.

**A/N:** The title of this story is taken from the 1958 poem by Richard Brautigan.

This chapter is an rewritten version of one that appeared in _Silver Flame, Mirror Flower_, and that several people asked me to write as a separate story. My co-author and I spent some time researching the time period and setting (early 1963 in the United States) and writing an outline for the rest of this story, should there be sufficient interest. We have several chapters already drafted.

Please feel free to point out any historical inaccuracies, or any problems or suggestions you have about the story. We welcome feedback of any kind, and promise to reply to all signed reviews.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach.

(Originally posted 7/4/2014.)

XxXxXxX

"You know, it can grow a foot in an hour," Rangiku shouted over the noise of the wind. She straightened the plastic Jesus on the dashboard.

"What?" shouted Orihime. Her hair was lashing her face, stinging her skin like unbound threads. "What are you talking about?"

"Kudzu. Look, over there. It's common in the South. Grows over everything."

Orihime followed Rangiku's pointing finger to a long, ramshackle row of what looked like whitewashed henhouses, lining the highway. The nearer ones were clean-edged and freshly painted, miniature models of white clapboard and neatly sawed off entrances. Further along, however, a carpet of green encroached on their sharp lines, until finally at the end of the row, nothing was left but a furry mound of vibrant leaves, completely covering the structures.

"Wow." Ahead, a barn, several outbuildings, and what looked like a tractor were completely covered by kudzu. She had never seen anything like it.

"It was originally imported from Japan," Rangiku continued. "Did you know that it was once used for ornamental purposes and was called 'the miracle vine'? People loved its sweet-smelling flowers and large glossy leaves. Now they say you have to close your windows at night to keep it from coming in. Plus, snakes love it."

Rangiku was full of odd facts like this. She had a trick memory and a way of coaxing fanciful information out of the most dour of conversationalists. Orihime smiled to herself. Rangiku was in a good mood, something she hadn't seen in months now. This trip had been worth it if only for that.

Rangiku, meanwhile, had flitted onto another topic, as usual. She was rubbing her bare shoulders on the leather upholstery of their newly-rented brand-new 1962 Corvair convertible and moaning with pleasure.

"Oh, baby, feel that buttery smooth leather. Hime, this car is sex on wheels. I can practically feel it purring for me." She licked her lips, ran her fingers over the sleek steering wheel and tapped one manicured finger on the matching fire-engine red of the car door.

Orihime blushed a little, but she was used to her friend's earthy manner of speaking by now. Rangiku grinned at her, waggling her eyebrows. "This is the life, isn't it, Orihime?" she shouted over the rush of the wind.

Orihime tilted her head up to the sun. "Yes, this is so much fun! I'm glad you talked me into it, Rangiku."

They had saved all year for this trip, tossing pennies, nickels and quarters into the mayonnaise jar on the kitchen windowsill. Every time Orihime stood at the sink, washing dishes, instead of looking at the brick wall only six feet away out the cracked window, she had let her eyes rest on the slowly rising level of coins in the jar.

It helped her smile brightly at Rangiku whenever her roommate looked particularly grey in the dark mornings as they got ready for their jobs at the textile factory.

It had only been three years since the two friends had left home for the big city, hoping to find the adventure that was missing in the tidy streets of their hometown, where all the lawns were the identical shade of green and the disapproving beat of relatives and neighbors was constantly thrumming in their ears.

They had planned to find work, to save up money for college, to reach for the big and exciting life that the magazines said you could find in the bustle and thrill of the city, where millions of people packed themselves together on a lifelong journey of self-betterment.

But instead they found long days of monotonous work at the factory, of standing at the machines looping thread after thread over tiny hooks until legs burned, fingers ached, and eyes blurred; the banging and clattering pounding their ears until they rang for hours. Long, long days of breathing air that stank of machine oil and made the insides of their nostrils itch. And in the evenings, instead of attending classes like they had once hoped, they trudged home, exhausted, through the grimy streets, the city air sour in their lungs, always making a stop at the liquor store now. Rangiku clutched the night's bottle of whiskey while Orihime, drained, wove elaborate fantasies in her head, visions of multiple lifetimes, working as an astronaut, running a bakery.

There was precious little money left every month after they had paid the rent and utilities on their tiny, dark apartment. But last winter, Rangiku had had the idea, the dream of a magnificent vacation someplace warm and sunny, far from the cold wind that chapped their cheeks as they hurried along the streets mottled with black ice and gray snow.

And so they had pooled their funds, eking out a few cents here and there to place in their vacation account.

Now at last they were there. They had taken the bus to this gloriously warm southern city in the sun, rented a top-of-the-line convertible, and dressed up in their finery. Now they had a week to live like queens, basking in luxury and indulging themselves with spa treatments at impossibly luxurious hotels. Orihime gave Rangiku a wide grin. She had been hesitant at first about blowing so much of their savings on something as ephemeral as a vacation, but Rangiku had eventually persuaded her. Actually, Orihime hoped that it might stop Rangiku from drinking so much if she had something wild and bright to look forward to in their grey lives. She was worried about her friend, the gradual proliferation of bottles clinking in their garbage can, Rangiku's increasingly puffy eyelids and the bags under her eyes, the coarsening and reddening of her cheeks.

Unfortunately, Rangiku couldn't seem to shake the habit, even here on vacation. However, Orihime had been able to persuade her to stop after a single shot of whiskey this morning. As a result, her driving was steady as they accelerated onto the highway. It was… a start.

And it was beautiful here. The air felt oddly gentle caressing her skin, warm, silky and scented like a courtesan. Strangely furred trees lined the sides of the road on both sides and Orihime stared at what looked like the outline of a two-story house completely covered in a mass of dark green leaves.

Orihime couldn't help shuddering as she imagined how the long, trailing vines could overgrow a house: the sticky green threads attaching themselves to windows, gradually choking out the light, digging under eaves, twining long, slender fingers into the floorboards and attic spaces. It suddenly reminded her of a ghost story she had read long ago, of a man who had drowned in the sea and had returned to his former lover's bed every night, trailing long strands of seaweed over her naked skin.

She shivered. Rangiku bent to turn on the radio. "Hey! It's too quiet here. Let's have some party music," she crooned, twisting the dial.

Harmonica notes sailed out on the breeze. "… Someone to love, somebody new… so please… love me do." Orihime had never heard it before, but the song had a catchy rhythm.

"Yeah," shouted Rangiku, thumping on the steering wheel in time with the beat. "That's what I need, someone to love, somebody new."

"Oh, Rangiku." Orihime shook her head. Rangiku fell in love with a new man practically every week.

"Somebody new," sang Rangiku, tapping the plastic Jesus with a red-tipped finger. "You know what we really need, Orihime? A pair of fuzzy dice. We need to hang some fuzzy dice from the mirror here; then this car will be perfect."

Orihime only smiled, shaking her head.

They hadn't been driving for longer than an hour when Rangiku said she needed a rest stop. They exited the highway, used the facilities, and soon were bumping along the frontage road back to the expressway.

Just before the entrance to the on-ramp, a tall brown-haired man in a white shirt and black slacks stood beside a canvas bag, one thumb lazily raised. Rangiku screeched to a halt.

"What are you doing?" Orihime hissed. "You can't pick up a hitchhiker! They're dangerous—didn't your mother teach you anything?"

The man had scooped up his bag and was loping toward their car. "Ah, look how handsome he is, Orihime! And well-dressed—he can't be a criminal or ruffian in that outfit," Rangiku called over her shoulder. She dropped her voice. "Come on, don't be a spoilsport. Let's have a little fun, okay?"

Orihime shook her head, a small furrow appearing in her forehead. "I still don't think this is a good idea," she demurred.

But the man had already reached them. Up close, she could see that he was indeed extremely handsome, with a refined, aristocratic face, clear skin, and slanted dark eyebrows framing huge deep brown eyes. One elegant hand rested idly on the passenger side door as he smiled at Rangiku. "Thank you very much," he said in a deep, polite voice. "I truly appreciate the ride."

"Come on, Orihime," Rangiku urged her. "Why don't you get out and let Mr.—ah," she glanced inquiringly at the man who was now smiling benignly at both of them.

"Aizen. Sousuke Aizen," he returned in that impossibly deep voice, and as Orihime opened the door, she saw on Rangiku's face the slightly glazed look that indicated that she was smitten.

"Mr. Aizen, then, sit in the middle, next to me," Rangiku said with a dazzling smile, patting the leather upholstery beside her.

The man, with a soft, apologetic glance at Orihime, turned to give Rangiku a charming smile.

Resigned, Orihime slid in beside him. Rangiku gunned the engine and they were off in a spray and clatter of gravel.

"Pleased to meet you two lovely ladies," the man – Aizen – said, bestowing a charming smile upon Rangiku and turning his head to include Orihime in his largesse. The wind tousled his hair and blew a long, wavy strand of it across his face. "May I ask what brings you to this part of the state?"

Rangiku grinned. "Ohhh, we were just bored at home in Manhattan so I asked daddy for some pin money to take a little vacation." She fluffed her hair and gestured at the car. "I know it's a step down from the Jag or the Rolls, but hey, nothing like red and screaming to let everyone know we're in town."

Orihime sighed in resignation. Was Rangiku actually trying to impress this hitchhiker with some lie about being rich? Orihime bit her tongue, deciding her loyalty to her friend came first.

Aizen laughed. "Indeed. It's certainly dramatic."

Rangiku batted her eyelashes. "And you, sir? What line of work are you in?"

"When I tell you, you'll wonder what I was doing hitchhiking by the side of the road." There was a note of apology and embarrassment in his voice. He turned one hand palm up and Orihime noticed how smooth and unlined his skin was.

Rangiku tipped her head and the wind splayed her hair so it snapped in the wind like a golden flag. "Now you're making me curious."

"I'm a stockbroker. I'm traveling to a convention, but unfortunately I had just pulled over to this rest stop when I was ambushed by a hoodlum with a gun who demanded my car and drove off with it."

"What?" Rangiku said, indignant. "Where were the police?"

He gave a rueful chuckle. "My thoughts exactly. It's been over an hour since I used the emergency phone box to ask for help. They said they would send an officer over right away." He shook his head. "I had just resigned myself to spending the entire day at that dingy rest stop when you two beautiful ladies drove by. I could see right away that you had good, kind hearts and would doubtless take pity on a stranded traveler."

Rangiku was already staring at him with a gleam in her eye. "See, Orihime," she crowed. "I told you he wasn't a common hitchhiker." Turning back to Aizen, she announced, "My friend was suspicious of you and didn't want to pick you up."

Orihime sighed. "Oh, Rangiku."

"But I knew right away that you were special," Rangiku proclaimed.

The man turned his head to give Orihime a reproachful, puppy dog glance. He smiled winningly. "I hope to earn your trust as well, my dear young lady."

Orihime blushed, embarrassed. It did seem like he was quite harmless. Of course, given that Rangiku was feeding him a blatant lie, it seemed hypocritical to have had any suspicions at all. She sighed and leaned back in the seat, plastering a smile on her own face.

She could not help noticing that Aizen's leg was pressed up against her bare thigh, the sun warming his elegant, no doubt expensive black slacks. It would surely be impolite to pull away, so she sat stiffly and tried to pretend that she didn't notice that she was squeezed up against a handsome but entirely unknown stranger.

Rangiku had produced a bottle of whiskey and waved it at Aizen. "Hey, wanna have some?" she offered. "Hime, you got a glass for our guest, don't you?"

"Isn't drinking in the car against the law?" Orihime began, a line appearing in the center of her forehead.

"Aw, Hime, where's your sense of fun?" She pouted and took a swig straight from the mouth of the bottle. "Ah, that's better!"

Orihime looked at Aizen to see how he would take this behavior. Surely a gentleman would find it uncouth.

But Aizen only smiled. He produced a handkerchief, wiped the mouth of the bottle, poured two fingers into the glass Orihime handed him, and took a sip before politely handing the glass to her. She found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his full, lush lips and the glimpse of his tongue as he licked a drop of liquid off his upper lip. Suspicious he may be, but he was certainly ungodly handsome. She pinched herself to stop herself from thinking inappropriate thoughts. She needed to keep her guard up, especially if Rangiku was going to start drinking this early in the day.

Rangiku snatched the glass out of Orihime's hand, tossed it down her throat, and punched the accelerator.

XxXxXxX

**A/N:** What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**The Galilee Hitchhiker – Chap. 2**

**A/N:** This chapter is a birthday present for my dear friend **Flare-Flare**, one of the most devoted AiHime fans I know. Happy birthday!

(Originally posted 7/6/2014.)

XxXxXxX

The hotel was far grander than anything Orihime had seen before in her life. Her feet sank into the red plush carpeting in the lobby that seemed to stretch out forever, and she could not keep herself from gaping at the twenty-foot wide chandelier and its full-bellied array of crystal suspended over their heads on a heavy brass chain from a ceiling that arched upward into dimness.

Rangiku was brazening it out, acting as though she stayed in places like this every day. Orihime detected an ever-so-slight note of amusement in Aizen's voice as he responded.

"No, my dears, I insist. You were kind enough to rescue me, so please allow me to return the favor by treating you both to rooms tonight."

Orihime put in, "We usually share a room, so there's no need for two."

Aizen arched one slender eyebrow. "Whatever for?" He leaned over to murmur in Rangiku's ear. "Surely it's worth it for privacy." She blushed, and Aizen added, "Besides, I can write it off as a tax deduction."

He turned back to the desk clerk. "Three of your deluxe suites, please, and charge them to Las Noches Corporation."

"Of course, sir," the clerk said. With one finger, he tapped a silver bell on the desk, and a uniformed bellhop came running up.

"Take your bags, sir?" he asked, touching two fingers to his red cap.

"The ladies first," Aizen drawled. "We have three adjoining rooms." He took both of their arms, and Orihime could not help a shiver as his arm, covered in some ungodly expensive fabric, slid along her bare skin. It felt as though every hair on her body was standing up, and unexpectedly, waves of an odd feeling drenched her, as though every nerve in her body was tingling, making her half stumble and fall against Aizen. He supported her effortlessly, the muscles in his arm flexing slightly, and she regained her feet and threw back her shoulders, pressing her lips together and trying to ignore the odd sensation.

Walking through the lobby to the elevators in back, Orihime found her neck craning as she tried to look at everything at once. The doorknobs were of solid brass, the walls covered with murals of surprising richness. The landing at the top of the marble staircase boasted a twenty-foot tall floor-to-ceiling oil painting in the style of Titian. Rangiku, on Aizen's other side, was now leaning against him heavily, slurring her words as she chattered brightly. Orihime sighed. Rangiku had finished off most of two bottles of whiskey during the drive, and Aizen, although ostensibly sharing the drinks with her, had drunk very sparingly.

Rangiku's clothing had become disheveled, exposing even more of her ample cleavage, and Orihime had noticed a small, pleased smile on Aizen's face as he gazed at his beautiful but obviously inebriated companion. And yet, he had done nothing other than behave like a complete gentleman. Yet.

Orihime could not help a shudder. She knew she should caution Rangiku against this man, but the entire situation felt completely out of her control.

The bellhop led them to a set of embossed brass doors, and pressed a button to call the elevator. Orihime watched in amazement as the brass dial above the door slowly wound down, 5, 4, 3, 2… With a musical ding, the dial reached 'Lobby,' and the doors opened.

Inside, dark wood paneling trimmed with what looked like gold spread over the walls of the elevator, and her feet sank about three inches into the plush deep red carpeting. A uniformed operator sat on a tall wooden stool in front of a wrought iron panel.

"Good afternoon, madams, sir," he said. "Floor, please?"

"Penthouse level," interjected the bellhop.

Orihime goggled at the operator sitting at his control panel. He grasped a wooden knob and slid the black metal inner doors closed, and then pulled one of three levers down. She had never been in a manually operated elevator like this before. The platform rose smoothly, and she felt the faintest twinge in her pit of her stomach.

Rangiku squealed and fell against Aizen, who caught her and held her hips firmly. Orihime watched as his hands slid smoothly up the sides of her torso, one brushing ever so subtly across the side of her bosom. Rangiku hummed and leaned against him for longer than was proper.

Orihime was the only one who blushed.

Once alone in her vast and elegant suite, she spent a short time in the bathroom freshening up. She hesitated a moment, then marched to the door with determination. Rangiku would thank her for this later.

Out in the hallway, standing before the carved double doors to Rangiku's suite, she paused for a moment before knocking.

Then from inside she heard a giggle, followed by a much deeper laugh.

She heaved a sigh and turned back to her room.

XxXxXxX

Much later that night, she was reading a book, feet propped up on a satin ottoman, when there was a knock at the door.

To her surprise, it was Aizen, still immaculately dressed in his expensive suit, carrying a bouquet of lilies and irises.

Upon seeing him, she blushed and stammered. "I'm sorry," she began, "I thought you were –" she stopped as her eyes flicked to Rangiku's room.

He gave a rich, warm laugh. "Not at all," he murmured as he took a step forward and she found herself automatically letting him into her room. "I'm sure you will be pleased to know that your friend is feeling better. She felt a little queasy, no doubt due to a slight overindulgence –" and here he paused and gave her a conspiratorial, apologetic look so like a sad puppy that she couldn't help but laugh.

He set the flowers in a tall, fluted vase on a polished table in the entrance area of her suite. Turning to Orihime, he smiled. "I spent some time getting her settled and making sure the hotel staff could provide her with everything she needed."

"Oh. Oh!" Orihime's smile was dazzling and relieved. So it had all been innocent after all. She scolded herself for being so untrusting of her friend. Of course Rangiku wouldn't simply jump into bed with a strange hitchhiker they had only met today.

Aizen was continuing, "My confidential secretary has just arrived at the hotel, and I've sent him to watch over Rangiku and see if she needs a doctor or anything else." He gestured in the direction of the neighboring room.

"Uh, thank you!" Orihime said, "That's so kind of you. But surely it's not necessary..."

"But of course," he murmured. "Nothing but the best for my rescuers."

"Um," said Orihime, remembering her manners. "Would you like to come in for a minute? I was just going to pour myself a cup of tea."

His eyes flickered. "Why, thank you. I can't stay long as I have more work to do, filling out forms for the police and insurance company, but who could turn down a cup of tea?" He smiled.

As she poured from a heavy silver teapot into a very delicate china cup, she asked, "Have they had any luck finding your car?"

He sighed, relaxing into the high-backed armchair. "I'm told I'll probably never see it again; it's most likely already been stripped down for parts." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's only a car. Worldly possessions are, after all, mere weights upon the soul, chains that keep one from attaining what is truly important and eternal."

She raised her eyebrows. He was wealthy enough that the loss of the car probably didn't mean much to him, but the comment about possessions was not something she would have expected from a man in his position.

He met her eyes, apparently amused. "Ah," he murmured. "Let me explain: in this matter, I believe as Emerson did; a man should 'plant himself indomitably on his instincts, and there abide.'"

Orihime stifled a disapproving frown. "It sounds like you're saying that everybody should just do what they feel like. If that happened, then society would collapse."

"Would it now? Or would it just change into something better, something fresher, newer?" He rested one elbow on an armrest and eyed her over the rim of the teacup. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper, so that she had to lean in to hear. "Tell me, my dear… haven't you felt everyday life can be a straitjacket, a binding you will never leave before the grave? Haven't you longed to burst free, to burst into flower?" He glanced at her, long lashes half lowered over his dark eyes.

Orihime stared at him, extremely uncomfortable. She had no idea how to reply. Instead, she stood up. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm really feeling very tired and need to go to sleep now."

"But of course." He rose immediately, and inclining his head politely, he swept out of the room, leaving only a strange, flowery fragrance behind him.

XxXxXxX

The next morning, Orihime was sitting in the hotel lobby on an unbelievably sumptuous couch, reading a book.

A shadow fell over the page and she looked up.

"Good morning, Orihime," said Aizen, looking fresh and trim in another of his expensive suits. "What are you reading, if I may ask?"

Orihime showed him the book. His eyebrows climbed. "The Princess and Curdie?" He smiled. "I particularly love the part where Curdie receives the gift of being able to hold a person's hand and know which animal their soul has degenerated into."

"You know it," she said in surprise.

"Indeed." He sat down on the couch next to her. He settled into the cushions and ran one hand through his thick brown hair.

"You've actually read it?" she found herself blurting. Why would a rich businessman bother to read children's fantasies, much less remember a particular plot detail?

"Mm-hmm," he murmured. His head was to one side as he studied her carefully. She could not remember seeing anyone with eyes that particular shade of brown. They were an astonishingly deep, rich color, irises rimmed with a slightly darker band, and there was a very faint but elaborate tracing within each iris, almost as though there were words written there. Abruptly, she tore her eyes away.

"May I?" he asked politely, indicating her hand. "Let's see what I can learn from holding yours."

"Uh—okay?" Surely it was not appropriate for her to let him touch her hand. And yet – what was wrong with it? She extended her left hand, palm up, and he gently took it in both of his.

He hummed deep in his throat, and his long, well-manicured fingers stroked her palm. "Yes, you are fully human; no degeneration in your soul. How exquisite." His hands were warm, and suddenly she realized how much sensation she could feel in her hand, how sensitive the skin was at the base of her thumb and across her wrist. Involuntarily, she shivered and rubbed her legs against each other. "People don't pay nearly enough attention to hands," he murmured.

One velvety finger traced the soft area between her thumb and forefinger and sketched an arc down to her wrist. "This is your life line," he said softly. "It indicates that you will live a long and happy life, although it appears you will have something of a traumatic experience in your early 20s." He looked up and met her eyes, lids drooping slightly. "But you are strong and will overcome." He gently kneaded the mound of flesh at the base of her thumb, and she felt herself writhing against the silken brocade of the cushions. It felt so good. No one had ever touched her like this before.

"These are strong, good hands," he went on. "The hands of a worker." He smiled. "Not the idle heiress you two girls would have me believe. Hmmm, judging by this pattern of calluses, I would say … a factory worker… mmmm… textile factory?" he added, looking up at her for confirmation.

She blushed red to the roots of her hair and could feel her face burning. "I-I'm so sorry," she mumbled. She hung her head, staring at a thread in the brocaded cushion by her leg. "Rangiku started telling that story and I didn't know what to say. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to deceive you, and I know it was wrong of me."

"Shh." He put a finger to her lips to stop her babbling. A gentle smile curled his mouth. "Please don't worry. It really doesn't matter to me." He waved a hand. "Besides, you see, like Curdie, I only care about what's on the inside." Was it just her or did the cool air of the lobby feel suddenly warmer? He had not ceased to rub and stroke her hand. He was doing nothing inappropriate, and yet… "I can feel your soul in your hand, Orihime," he whispered. "Did you know it shines like a beacon? Good, and pure… It drew me to you, you know," he murmured almost to himself.

Orihime shook her head. She was having a hard time understanding his words; it almost felt like she was falling asleep, right there on the couch in the middle of the lobby with all the bustle around them, all the people crossing back and forth, their heels clicking on the slate tile of the entrance hall near the registration desk, muffled on the thick carpet in the sitting area, murmured voices, the very faint hint of classical music being played from hidden speakers. She felt a deep and drowsy sense of comfort steal through her, something she could not remember since she was a very young child. She slumped further down into the seat, the shock of embarrassment fading unnaturally quickly as she relaxed and her eyes began to close.

The man continued to watch her, as he now began to massage her fingers one by one, his fingers isolating each digit and gently kneading the flesh at each knuckle. It was soothing and peaceful. She sighed very gently as he touched her wrist delicately and ran two fingertips up her forearm. Her hand and arm were tingling now, and the tingling was spreading throughout her body, making her feel altogether pleasant and fuzzy, just as she had felt the one time Rangiku had convinced her to share the entirety of a bottle of cheap brandy.

Her book slipped out of her other hand and landed with a thump on the floor. Abruptly her eyelids flew open and her body jerked upright. She pulled her hand out of his grasp.

Awake now, she shook her entire body, feeling the lingering sparks dissipate. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Was I falling asleep on you? That was very rude, wasn't it?" she said with a nervous laugh.

He was sitting upright again, the epitome of polish and politeness. "Not at all. It was entirely my fault for going on at tiresome length about a subject I have a personal fascination with. My apologies." He inclined his head as she bent to retrieve her book from the floor.

"No. No, it's fine," she reassured him, straightening. "Are you very interested in palmistry and fortune-telling?"

"Not so much in fortune-telling as in magic in general, the use of unconventional means to shift the reality around us."

Her eyes widened. "Magic?" She laughed. "As in, three wishes?"

"That is one form of it, yes." He turned to face her and his expression became serious. "Wishes," he murmured, "fascinate me. If you could have any wish in the world, what would you wish for?"

"Me?" She laughed a little nervously. Although she did spend a lot of time in her imagination thinking about magical wishes, in reality it made her a little uneasy to speak those thoughts out loud. Wishes were too sharp, too scary and vibrant to speak aloud except to close friends. Her mother had always scolded her for being too fanciful, for having her head in the clouds, for doing things that would cause the neighbors to frown.

She picked something safe and obvious. "I would wish that there would be no more wars, and that no one would ever hurt anyone else."

He chuckled, but she thought his eyes sharpened and glittered. "A laudable and sensible wish." There was something stirring within those dark brown eyes, something that made her uncomfortable but also a little excited. "But I meant for yourself. A personal wish, not something for anyone else but you."

"Oh!" Orihime blushed, twisting her fingers in a strand of hair. "Well, I don't want to be selfish…"

"Nonsense, my dear, what is wrong with being selfish in a wish?"

She hesitated. She had never told anyone other than Rangiku about this, but somehow, something about the man in front of her inspired a kind of recklessness, made her feel that she could dare anything. "I've always wished I could become an astronaut."

She let the words hang in the air, half-shocked at her own daring, expecting a mocking, superior laugh. But instead, his eyes widened. "Oh my. That is a very large wish."

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked. "I didn't mean—"

"Oh, my dear. Please don't worry. I love your audacity and think more people should strive for big goals." He smiled.

"What do you mean?" she asked a little nervously. He was not reacting at all how she expected, and she had the sense of seeing something in his eyes as though through water, murky and indecipherable, but with a spark of something terrifying in their depths

"I mean that when most people are asked what they would wish for, they ask for relatively small things. Say, their one true love or a few million dollars."

"That's a small wish?" asked Orihime.

He leaned back on the couch and regarded her. "Yes, if you think about what would be required to grant it. Giving someone money or finding someone they're romantically compatible with are fairly easy. It simply requires a small tweak to the universe as it is. But to enable you, a woman, to become an astronaut…hmmm. That would require not only a complete change in your life, but even more, it would require that your entire society change. Radically and rapidly."

Orihime's mouth was hanging open. She had never had a conversation like this before. He must be mocking her, mocking the uneducated millworker who had dared to spin a story and speak of silliness. Mocking a woman who dared to fantasize beyond her station in life. She would show him. She would meet his words head on. She lifted her chin and bristled. "The Russians are training five women to fly in one of their Vostok missions right now. And at least one of them is a textile factory worker."

He raised one eyebrow. "But that is Russia. They have a political ax to grind. Here in this country?" He lifted a shoulder, let it drop. "I don't believe any women in your country are scheduled to become astronauts for at least forty years."

Orihime blinked. "What?"

Aizen's face was blank. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did you just say…" she trailed off, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I must have misheard you."

His face was polite but distant. "What did you think I said?"

"Nothing." She laughed nervously. "You don't think women should be astronauts?"

"On the contrary," he whispered, letting one hand rest all-too-casually on the brocade couch between them, less than an inch from her thigh. She squirmed slightly and tried to move unobtrusively away. "I love daring wishes. They give one so much… to work with." His gaze pierced her and she felt slightly dizzy.

She licked her lips and continued gamely on with the conversation. "What other types of wishes might be … large?"

"Ahhh." He slid one arm over the armrest and smiled. "Wishes… are such intriguing things." Was it her imagination, or was there something altogether dark in his smile? "So revealing about a person's nature."

"Well, in that case," she sat up straight and challenged him, "what would you wish for?"

"If I could have anything, absolutely anything I wanted?" He cocked his head, a slow smile blooming on his full lips.

"Yes," she said boldly. Her mother would definitely not approve of the way she spoke to this man.

He rested his chin on his knuckles and smirked at her. His cuff fell back from his wrist and she could see the hair on his forearm glimmering like gold in the lamplight. "In that case, if there were absolutely no limits… why not go for broke?" He leaned closer to her as though to whisper in her ear, so close she caught a whiff of his tangy cologne and underneath, something wild and feral, a scent that went straight to her gut and made her tense on the couch, ready to get up and run. His dark eyes were only inches away from hers now. She inhaled involuntarily and felt a shiver go through her. He was smiling now with a kind of unrestrained delight, his eyes narrowed with a wicked gleam.

"I would wish… to be a god."

XxXxXxX

**A/N: **So what do you think Aizen is doing? What is he planning, and what is he? And please review if you have a moment.

We completely rewrote chapter 1, so if you have time, we'd appreciate your thoughts on the new version as well.


End file.
